


Tea

by Trotzkopf



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Character Death Mentioned, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hogswatch, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Vimes is a widower, no hanky panky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 02:09:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12831078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trotzkopf/pseuds/Trotzkopf
Summary: It's Hogswatch night and nothing is well.





	Tea

Hogswatch was one of the busiest nights of the year for the Watch. Mostly drunken arguments about who had said what to whom twenty years ago, nothing too violent. However, it was the sheer volume that meant every unmarried copper had to be out on duty to help keep the peace. 

Commander Vimes tugged the collar of his cape up against the icy wind blowing in from the Circle Sea. He was proceeding through grey sludge over the Brass Bridge, not because it was an easy beat in an area devoid of family festivity, but because it meant each step took him further away from the corner of King’s Way and Scoone Avenue. 

It was still too fresh, too raw. He couldn’t even look at the house he and his wife had occupied only three months ago. His wife who now lay in her family’s crypt. She had accompanied him to Überwald to work on their marriage. 

The cynical part of Vimes thought, “And it had worked, after a fashion. The problem has been resolved, permanently.” The rest of Vimes hated him for that thought.

Angua had tried to resign - again - but the Commander and Carrot hadn’t let her. It wasn’t her fault that her family was a pack of power hungry werewolves. That was just an accident at birth. No, it was his fault. Sam Vimes had failed as a husband and as a watchman. 

They had avenged Sybil but it had done nothing to wash away the guilt that seemed to sit on his shoulders like a heavy-linked chain. 

“I should have seen it coming. I should have listened. I shouldn’t have let her storm out like that, right into the maws of Wolfgang. I should have been a better husband.” The wheels were churning endlessly. Maybe he should have chosen a more populated area. More work, but also more distraction. 

Then again, last year’s distraction had included Mrs Salter trying to fillet Mr Salter with a carving knife. In the end, they had arrested both for public indecency as the fury of the heated argument had turned into a fire of a different sort. Vimes really felt he could skip that particular kind of spectacle this year and had chosen the quieter beat. 

He looked up. The palace was looming in front of him. There was a dim light in Vetinari’s office.

*~*

“Ah, Commander, you’re just in time,” the Patrician greeted him as Vimes let himself into the room. Vetinari gestured toward the tray sitting on the desk. Steam rose from the teapot. There were two elegant cups on paper-thin saucers. The air smelled of bergamot and lemon. 

Vimes sighed. A couple of years ago he would have asked silly questions like, “Were you expecting me?” and “How could you possibly have known I’d come here?” But experience had taught him not to be surprised any more where Havelock Vetinari was concerned. 

Instead he said, “Good evening, your lordship,” and closed the door. 

“And how is the situation out there tonight?” Vetinari asked as he poured the tea. The question was a mere courtesy, of course. A part of Vimes riled at the attempt at being humoured but the rest of him was too weary and depressed to rise to the challenge, so he murmured, “Quiet so far.”

He stood uneasy in front of the desk, staring at the patch of wall just past Vetinari’s head. Why had he come here, exactly? Cold drops were uncomfortably running down his neck where a few icy flurries had managed to sneak past his collar. He hadn’t even noticed it out there but the pleasant warmth of the palace reminded his body how awful it was on the other side of those walls. 

Vetinari scrutinised him over the rim of his cup, “Please have a seat and do try the tea. It’s a gift from my aunt.” 

Still standing, Vimes shifted his gaze to the steaming cup and mechanically reached for it before he took a sip and grimaced, “Needs sugar.” 

“If you insist,” Vetinari replied and gestured toward a small, round bowl next to the teapot. When Vimes glanced up, he thought he caught the faintest hint of a nose wrinkle on the other man’s face. After that he made sure to pour four instead of his usual three spoons into his cup and drained it in one go. He smacked his lips. Truth be told, he didn’t care for fancy tea, just as he didn’t care for entitlement and nobility, but awful or not, it was hot and spread a welcomed warmth where cold numbness had taken root. 

“I should be on my way,” Vimes said absentmindedly and set the cup down on the desk. Vetinari made a show of staring at it, just as Vimes pretended not to understand what the problem was until the Patrician rose an eyebrow. 

“Oh sorry,” lied Vimes and with exaggerated care put the offending item back on its saucer. The corners of his mouth twitched.

Vetinari steepled his fingers in front of his lips and narrowed his eyes at him. “Why are you here, Commander?”

“If you are asking, you already know the answer,” Vimes retorted with a humourless grin. 

“Do I now?”  

For the first time since he had entered the room, Vimes made an effort to look into the other man’s eyes. “Don’t play games with me. Not tonight.” 

“That’s a curious request, coming from you,” Vetinari pointed at the cup. He was right of course. 

Now, why had he done that? Vimes wondered. It had been positively silly just to get a rise - however small - out of the man. But for a few precious seconds, he hadn’t hated himself and that had been enough. A distraction, however small. 

“I just needed a cup of tea. It’s cold out there,” he admitted eventually. 

Vetinari nodded. For once, his voice held no edge when he said, “Well then, I’m happy to have been of assistance.” 

It was stupid. It had just been tea. It was nothing. Just two cups and a sugar bowl. Vimes didn’t know why he felt a lump forming in his throat. Must be the smoke from the fireplace, he lied to himself. He tried to clear his throat. “Thank you for the…for the tea. I’d better be on my way.” 

His hand was already on the door handle when he heard the call, “Commander?” Vimes gazed over his shoulder. “Please feel free to stop by whenever you need a - what's the word - cuppa?” 

Smoke from the fireplace, Vimes told himself again as his eyes started to sting. He nodded almost imperceptibly before he left the room just short of a run. 

The temperature had dropped even further, Vimes noticed as he proceeded toward Upper Broadway. He turned his collar up again, a small smile tugging at the corner’s of his mouth. Somehow the terrible tea was still keeping him warm from the inside out. 

The End 

 


End file.
